


how a little boy's love saved the weeping monk

by elenyagrace



Category: Cursed (Netflix), Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: (a lot), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Internal Monologue, M/M, Mentions of Self-Inflicted Punishment, Post-Season/Series 01, Rating May Change, Serious Injuries, Squirrel gets the dads he deserves, Temporary Character Death, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenyagrace/pseuds/elenyagrace
Summary: Unsure of how to proceed now that his plan to save the child has succeeded, the monk steers the horse in a random direction, his only goal now to put distance between them and the paladins’ camp. He knows that he should take the boy to his people, but he does not know where they have gone and he is sure they would not welcome the sight of him should he be able to find him.He knows their hate for him is just, that it’s probably better still than what he truly deserves. But deep down, he can’t help but yearn for the kindness the Green Knight had shown him, can’t help but wish he could have the life that the Green Knight’s words of brotherhood promised.(alternatively titled 'how squirrel came to have two dads')
Relationships: (eventually), Gawain | The Green Knight & Squirrel | Percival (Cursed), Gawain | The Green Knight & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Gawain | The Green Knight/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 234





	1. The Beginning

“...we have to go! Come on, get up!” The world slowly comes back into focus and the Weeping Monk manages to catch himself only seconds before his face can hit the ground. He finds himself steadied by small hands on his sides that try to pull him up. With the help of the boy he chose to save from his fate - even as every part of him screamed that he was damning himself further - he manages to get to his feet again, and together they stumble towards his horse.

The monk heaves himself up onto the horse, then reaches for the boy. He helps him mount and pulls him in front of himself where he can steady the boy, who is still too small for riding. He wraps one arm around the boy’s waist, the other reaching for the reins. They leave the camp in haste, hyper aware of the fact that their escape might be noticed any minute now, that someone might stumble upon the slain members of the trinity guard and that Abbott Wicklow managed to get away. The Weeping Monk does not allow himself to look back, fearing he might not be able to leave if he catches a glimpse of what his life used to be.

Neither the boy nor the man speak as they ride further and further from the paladins’ camp. The monk is glad for the silence as they ride through the night, as he is unsure whether he could muster up the energy to speak, should the boy decide to. At the same time, he feels a strange emotion welling up in his chest that he thinks might be worry. Whenever he’s been around the boy before, he never once kept quiet, always finding something to say.

Unsure of how to proceed now that his plan to save the child has succeeded, the monk steers the horse in a random direction, his only goal now to put distance between them and the paladins’ camp. He knows that he should take the boy to his people, but he does not know where they have gone and he is sure they would not welcome the sight of him should he be able to find him.

He knows their hate for him is just, that it’s probably better still than what he truly deserves. But deep down, he can’t help but yearn for the kindness the Green Knight had shown him, can’t help but wish he could have the life that the Green Knight’s words of brotherhood promised.

The sun is already descending again when the monk decides to break the silence that has settled around them. He can’t keep thinking about his charge as ‘the boy’, cannot keep pretending that this is just another mission. He has given up everything he knows to save this child - he is not foolish enough to think the Red Paladins would welcome him back, and for the first time since he was a child, he is unsure of whether he would even want to go back, if given the choice.

Again, he finds himself thinking about the Green Knight. The man had known exactly how to disarm the monk - not with a weapon, perhaps; but it had only taken the knight a few words to make the Weeping Monk question his place in the world. He knew that if he revealed his identity to the other paladins, they would look at him in disgust, would probably burn him as they had all the other fey before him.

He shakes himself to lose these thoughts, though only mentally as he fears he would cause the boy in front of him to fall from the horse were he to physically shake himself. He notices that he is leaning heavily on the small body in front of him, that they should probably stop to rest soon. He also notices that he is still calling him ‘the boy’, so he asks: “What was your name, boy?”

“Squirrel.” Though the name surely befits the child, he is certain that it is not his real name. He says as much. “A squirrel is an animal. What name were you given?” “I don’t like that name,” the boy answers reluctantly. The monk persists. “It’s still your name.”

“Fine,” the boy huffs, “it’s Percival.” “Percival,” the monk repeats, testing the name. The boy - Percival - turns his head slightly and asks: “Do you have a real name?” The monk blanks for a moment. No one has called him by his real name in what feels like a lifetime, what probably has been a lifetime. He isn’t sure he even knows to react to that name anymore. But Percival has been honest to him and he figures the boy deserves his honesty in turn.

“Lancelot,” he forces out. “A long time ago my name was Lancelot.” It feels strange to speak the name he was given at birth. It’s almost as if by speaking it, a part of him reawakens that was forced to lie dormant for as long as he’s been with the paladins; a part that was trained, whipped and burned out of him. He wasn’t sure it still existed, thought it gone for the longest time.

Percival turns his head towards him again and regards him for a while. Whatever it is he is looking for, he seems satisfied by what he sees in the monk’s face. Lancelot’s face. He still struggles to put aside the moniker he had been given by the Red Paladins. But the Weeping Monk would not have defied the orders of Father Carden, would not have turned his back on the church to save a small boy from death. So now he is only Lancelot, whoever that may be.

It hurts to think of Father Carden, the only person who was a constant in the Weeping Monk’s life. He had managed to avoid thinking of him until now, avoided thinking about the man’s reaction to his actions. He was sure his fury would be immeasurable once he learned of what Lancelot had done, but more than anything else Lancelot feared Father Carden’s disappointment. Feared being told he was damned, that there was no salvation for him.

His grip on the boy’s waist must have tightened, for Percival puts one of his small hands on Lancelot’s arm. But he doesn’t try to pull the arm away, nor does he speak - he simply lets his hand rest there, a reassuring weight.

It is exactly what Lancelot needs to banish these thoughts into a small corner of his mind, a reminder of why he had chosen to abandon the church. He could not idly stand by as they killed an innocent child and he was not sure he wanted the salvation of a god that demanded the death of children simply for the circumstances of their birth.

A few hours of riding in silence pass before either of them speaks again. This time, it’s Percival who breaks the silence. “Do you know what happened to the Green Knight?” Lancelot is not surprised that the boy would ask this question - had wondered, even, when it would come up - but finds that he is still uncertain how to answer it.

So he decides to settle on: “I don’t know for sure.” “But what do you think?” the boy presses. He has turned around as much as he can without falling off the horse and looks at Lancelot expectantly. The man sighs and tries to find a way to tell the boy his thoughts without upsetting him. In the end, he figures there is none and decides to be blunt. “They had no more use for him after the Fey Queen had agreed to surrender.”

“So he’s dead?” Percival cries out, then seems to understand the significance of what Lancelot said. “What do you mean, the Fey Queen has surrendered? Nimue would never do that! She wouldn’t just give up!” He seems to grow more upset with each word, so Lancelot hurries to explain what he can. “I think she surrendered to keep your people safe. I do not know the details, but from what I gathered she had come to an agreement with the Pendragon king.”

Percival considers this for a while. Then he asks: “So they’re both dead?” He doesn’t appear angry anymore, instead, he seems empty somehow. Lancelot recognizes that tone, has heard himself use it countless times, and it frightens him to hear the boy speak this way. He is far too young to sound so broken and it pains him to remember that he is probably to blame the most.

“I can’t be certain, but I do not think that there is much hope left for them,” Lancelot admits. Percival seems to accept his answer and turns back around to face the road.

If Lancelot feels tears fall on his arm as they ride on, he doesn’t mention it, letting the boy grieve for his friends in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed reading my take on the Weeping Monk and Squirrel.  
> I originally planned to make this chapter fluffy, but the interior monologue got out of hand and now there's angst? I promise the fluff isn't far behind though!  
> The next chapter will be up soon - I hope you liked this one enough to stick around for the next one :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Percival settle for the night and try to find a middle ground on which they can tread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, there is very little plot involved in this chapter, but the boys enjoy some quality bonding time (and I think they deserve to have that), so I hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

When the sunlight is almost completely gone and only a soft hue lights up the world around them, Lancelot and Percival dismount and start to set up camp. They had not dared to stop for longer periods of time than was strictly necessary to allow the horse to rest and to relieve themselves, because they had to assume that there were paladins on their trail already.

But Lancelot is not sure he could continue riding for a single minute and he assumes that it is much the same for Percival, even though the boy has not complained once. In fact, he hasn’t spoken at all since he learned of the fate of his friends. While Lancelot is aware that the boy is grieving, it is still worrying to have the usually talkative child rendered completely silent.

He does not start a fire, aware that it would be like a flare for anyone looking for them. Instead, he offers his cloak to Percival for warmth, but the boy refuses. Lancelot digs around in his saddlebags for food and water and what little he finds, he passes to Percival. He tries to refuse these as well, but Lancelot insists. 

“I know you don’t feel like eating, but that does not mean you don’t need to,” Lancelot remarks. “I don’t care!” Percival responds stubbornly, “I’m not hungry.” Lancelot sighs, feeling his patience begin to fray. “Your stomach says differently. Now eat or I will stuff this bread into your mouth and keep it shut until you have swallowed all of it.”

He expects the boy to get angry at him, to insult him as he did the first time they met, but miraculously, he only rolls his eyes at him and starts eating. After two bites however, he pauses. Lancelot thinks he will start arguing again, but instead Percival regards him sharply. His gaze moves from his face, to his empty hands and finally to the food in his own hands.

“And what do you plan on eating?” Lancelot finds himself sighing, again. “I will find something to eat tomorrow, before we set out again,” he explains, hoping the boy will leave it at that. Unsurprisingly, he does not. “You are wounded!” Percival protests, “and you haven’t eaten all day. Your body can’t heal if you don’t eat.”

“I will eat something tomorrow,” he repeats, letting his tone convey that he will not argue about this. Unfortunately, Percival either does not realize that Lancelot is done arguing, or, more likely, he does not care. “And how do you plan on finding something to eat if you can’t walk, because you didn’t eat anything tonight?” he asks, unimpressed.

Lancelot catches himself rolling his eyes as the boy had done earlier. He chooses not to answer, instead leaning against a tree for support while he slowly gets down. He rests his back against the tree once he’s sitting down and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

Percival is blessedly silent, and instead of questioning why he does not continue the argument, Lancelot enjoys the moment of peace. He is interrupted by something hitting his chin. He opens his eyes rapidly, trying to determine if they are being threatened, only to realize that Percival is still very silent - and surely he would have alerted Lancelot to the presence of an intruder.

So he glances towards the boy, and finds himself regarded in turn. There’s something in Percival’s expression that he cannot quite place, so instead he turns his gaze to figure out what had hit him. In his lap, he finds a piece of the bread that he had given to Percival. When he looks back to the boy, he realizes that the emotion he couldn’t place before had been mirth.

Percival is openly smug now, seemingly very content with his actions. “If you don’t eat, I won’t either. So enjoy your meal Lancelot.” He grins at the man, but the glint in his eyes makes it clear that he is being serious. 

Sighing for what feels like the millionth time since he’s met the boy, Lancelot takes a bite from the bread. Percival keeps watching him until he’s taken a second and a third bite. Seemingly satisfied, he continues to eat his own share of the bread.

When he’s done eating, Lancelot mutters: “You really try my patience, boy.” Percival does not seem insulted at all. If anything, he appears to consider this an accomplishment. He takes a swig from the waterskin that Lancelot had given to him, then asks: “Can you catch, or should I throw this at your face as well?” Lancelot wants to protest, but Percival apparently predicted this and throws the waterskin at him. 

Lancelot has no issues catching the item, but it does prevent his protests, which is probably what the boy was aiming for. To appease him, Lancelot sips a tiny bit of water. They don’t have much and he doesn’t know when they will find the next source of clean water, so he means to preserve what little they have for Percival. When he means to throw the waterskin back to Percival, he finds the boy looking at him accusingly.

“What is it now?” Lancelot asks, exasperated. Percival doesn’t answer, but keeps glaring at him, clearly irritated. Lancelot decides to ignore his charge for the moment, since he can’t figure out what he has done to offend the boy. He throws the waterskin back to Percival, who catches it but doesn’t break his accusing stare.

Since the boy does not explain himself, Lancelot chooses to get some more rest before the boy goes to sleep, so that he can keep watch during the night. He closes his eyes and tries to get somewhat comfortable against the tree. Percival keeps silent, so Lancelot assumes he decided to let go of whatever was bothering him. 

After a few minutes of silence, he hears footsteps, though he’s sure the boy is trying to keep quiet. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, figuring the boy just wants to relieve himself. But the footsteps turn into his direction and stop right next to where he’s sitting. Then he hears the sound of a waterskin being opened.

Lancelot opens his eyes to find Percival standing next to him, the open waterskin held right above his face. He’s wearing the same smug expression as earlier and states: “Either you properly drink something, or I will spill this over your face so that at least some of it might get in your mouth.”

Lancelot is too exhausted to argue with Percival, and he does not want to risk him spilling what little water they have. Resigned, he reaches for the waterskin, intending to have another tiny sip to satisfy the boy. Percival, however, pulls the waterskin out of his reach and bats his hands away. Confused, Lancelot opens his mouth to ask Percival whether he wants him to drink or not, but Percival uses his confusion to put the waterskin to his mouth. He tips it up so that Lancelot’s mouth is filled with water that he can’t help swallowing.

Annoyed that he has been outsmarted, Lancelot reaches for the waterskin again, but Percival quickly pulls away once more. “Will you drink properly now?” Lancelot thinks that Percival is trying to sound innocent, but he does not succeed in this endeavour. “Will you stop bothering me if I do?” Lancelot himself is trying to sound irritated, but he thinks Percival notices that he can’t help but be impressed by the boy’s wits.

“For now,” he grins. He hands the waterskin over to Lancelot and watches him carefully, expectantly. So Lancelot takes another sip. Percival does not seem happy when he stops drinking afterwards, but he doesn’t argue again. Lancelot wisely does not give back the waterskin.

Then, in a matter of moments, Percival’s expression turns solemn. “It’s none of my business if you want to starve yourself for whatever reason you think you deserve to.” Lancelot startles. He didn’t think he was being so transparent that even a child could see through him. But before he can deny the accusation, Percival continues. “But if you don’t survive, I probably won’t either, so why do you bother feeding me?”

Lancelot stays silent for a moment. He honestly hadn’t considered this, hadn’t thought far enough into the future to register that his own survival might be vital for that of the boy. Finally he settles on: “I’ve gone for longer without food and drink, I won’t die.”

Percival looks utterly unimpressed with this answer. “Were you wounded all over those times as well?” His gaze becomes accusing again. “Have you even checked whether any of your wounds need binding?” Lancelot had not, in fact, checked his body for wounds, not wanting the boy to see him in this state. He can imagine that a lot of his wounds need binding, but that does not change the fact that he has no gauzes to bind them with, nor any other material that they can spare for the matter.

“Go to sleep, Percival.” The boy clearly looks as though he wants to keep arguing, but at the same time his exhaustion seems to have caught up to him. He goes to lie down and Lancelot thinks that he will finally get some peace now, but Percival speaks up again. “Will you sleep as well?”

“Someone has to keep watch,” Lancelot explains. Percival nods, showing his understanding. Then, because he seems to be incapable of not having the last word, he says: “Wake me up in a few hours, then I’ll keep watch and you can sleep for a while.” Lancelot raises his eyebrows. “I’m a knight now! I can keep watch for a few hours!” he protests.

“Sure,” Lancelot says, amusedly. Percival seems unsure of the man’s intentions, clearly not having expected to win this easily. “In a few hours,” he repeats, before he drifts off to sleep.

When Lancelot is sure Percival is asleep, he gets up, leaning heavily on the tree for support, and walks over to where the boy is lying on the ground, curled in on himself. He takes off his cloak and drapes it over the boy. Lancelot regards him for a while then. He still is not certain he did the right thing in turning away from everything he knew, but as he looks down at the sleeping child, he cannot bring himself to regret his actions.

He returns to his former position against the tree and, with no intention of waking the boy in a few hours, Lancelot begins his watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd be delighted if you'd let me know if you did.  
> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and especially to everyone who commented - it makes me incredibly happy to hear that people are enjoying my work! :)
> 
> I hope you didn't think they were too out of character, because personally I think that if Squirrel would risk his life for Lancelot instead of running away, then yeah, he'd make sure he doesn't starve to death either :')  
> I didn't even mean for this chapter to happen the way it did, but these two just kept snarking at each other, and I had no control over any of this, I swear!   
> (if anybody is waiting for Gawain to show up like the tags promise, it won't be long before he makes his first appearance)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival and Lancelot continue their journey. Percival has a wish, Lancelot has concerns, but they manage to make it work.

Chapter 3

When he wakes up, the first thing Lancelot notices is that he fell asleep on his watch. He startles awake, scared that he will find the boy gone, but when he checks on Percival, he finds him leaning against a tree. He’s watching Lancelot struggle awake, clearly amused.

“I told you that you needed to sleep, didn’t I?” He sounds far too pleased with himself, considering that they might have been killed because Lancelot was foolish enough to fall asleep while on watch. But as much as he hates to admit it, Percival was right, his body needed to rest.

“How long have you been awake?” Lancelot asks. “Not long,” Percival admits. “An hour at most.” It is hard for Lancelot to think, and harder still to get up, his movements sluggish. While sleeping helped stave off the bone-deep exhaustion he was feeling, now that he isn’t tired anymore he feels the pain from his wounds tenfold as strong as yesterday. He knows that in the long run he will not survive the blood loss if his wounds remain unbound, but they still don’t have anything to bind them with, so he ignores the pain for now.

“We have to keep going,” Lancelot says, “we have lost too much time already.” It is true, the sun must have risen hours ago, judging by its height in the sky. He gathers their things and mounts Goliath, expecting Percival to follow suit. But when he turns to pull the boy onto the horse, he finds that Percival is still standing some feet away, seeming reluctant to leave.

“What is it?” Even Lancelot himself notices that he comes across as terribly impatient, but they cannot afford to waste more time. He tells Percival as much, and while he seems to understand the need for haste, he still hesitates to get on the horse. So Lancelot offers: “We can discuss this on the road, alright? We really do need to leave - we have no way of knowing whether anyone is following us.” While he still desperately wants to get going, he tries to let his tone soften a little, as the boy seems to be genuinely distressed about something.

Percival considers this for a moment, then nods his head in acceptance and finally lets Lancelot help him mount the horse. Lancelot surveys the place once more to look for anything they may have left behind, looks for traces that might indicate that they have been here. When he finds none, he finally steers Goliath back towards the path they were following yesterday, before they found shelter in the woods for the night.

Even though he promised the boy that they would discuss whatever was troubling him on the road, Lancelot does not ask Percival, letting him decide if and when he wanted to talk about it. They ride for an hour, maybe two, before Percival breaks the silence.

“I want to build them funeral pyres!” It takes a moment before Lancelot understands what Percival is talking about. He’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to react. Carefully, he says: “I’m not sure there’s much of a point in funeral pyres if you have no bodies to burn, is there?”

“That’s not what the pyres are about, though!” Percival insists. Lancelot genuinely does not understand what else the point might be, if not to burn the body, so he asks: “What are they about, then?” Percival seems offended at first, until he realizes that Lancelot does not mean to mock him, that he truly does not know.

Percival seems unsure of how to explain the concept of funeral pyres and stays silent for a while. “I don’t know if all Fey do this, but the Sky Folk build pyres for the dead,” he starts to explain. He pauses, thinks, and then continues: “It’s how our souls can pass on, go beyond this life.” It sounds more like a question than a statement, but he sounds utterly sure of himself when he states: “If they don’t get a pyre, then their souls are stuck here. So I want to build them a pyre!”

Suddenly the boy’s wish makes more sense to Lancelot. However, lighting a fire would still be foolish, no matter how noble the reasons. He keeps this to himself for now, not wanting to upset Percival, though he senses that the boy will be upset no matter when he tells him.

His suspicions are confirmed when they next stop to rest. He is able to locate a small stream, where Goliath can drink, and they can replenish their own water supply. Lancelot finds tracks of several small animals, most likely rabbits that came to drink here not long ago. They have no food left, so Lancelot grabs his bow, orders Percival to stay with the horse and out of trouble and starts to follow the tracks.

He manages to shoot three rabbits and finds a few wild berries before the smell of smoke reaches his nose. Percival. Of course. Even though he knows it will aggravate his wounds, Lancelot hurries back to where he left the boy. Sure enough, he has collected a pile of wood and arranged them into a miniature version of a pyre that he’s currently trying to light.

He stops the boy before he can successfully light the wood on fire and gets a very nasty glare in return. “What are you doing?” Percival demands to know, furiously watching as Lancelot disassembles the pyre. “Think for a moment!” Lancelot replies. “If anybody were to follow us, what would be the best way to discern our exact location?”

“How should I know? I never hunted anyone down to kill them!” Lancelot rears back, as if struck. He knows that the boy is still grieving, that his anger is really sadness in disguise. He also knows that Percival is not unjustified in calling him a killer. Being around the boy makes it easy to forget his past, but it does not erase it. It’s a surprise that he had not shown any hatred for Lancelot until now, truly.

He expects the boy to turn away from him, to decide he wants Lancelot gone from his life, to hate him. But Percival deflates completely, looking more broken than angry now. “I’m sorry,” he says, silently, “I didn’t mean to say that.” And perhaps this is more painful than his hatred. Lancelot does not feel as though he deserves his remorse, feels as though he should be apologizing, not Percival.

“I’m sorry we cannot honour your friends, but if we light a fire, the smoke will alert everyone around us to our presence, whether they are looking for us or not,” he tries to explain. “Oh.” Percival seems surprised. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“It’s alright,” Lancelot says gently, and then decides to try something he’s not sure he’s still capable of. “After all, it’s not as though you ever hunted anyone down to kill them.” Percival looks at him, disbelief written on his face. “Was that - did you just try to make a joke?”

“Perhaps I did,” Lancelot says ambiguously, “now come on, we have to keep going, we can’t waste the daylight.” He hands a handful of the berries he picked to Percival, stores the rabbits in the saddlebags and reattaches his bow to the saddle. He then washes his hands in the stream and mounts the horse. Percival stares wistfully at the discarded pile of wood once more, but then lets Lancelot pull him back on the horse.

They have been riding for a while already when Percival speaks up. “Lancelot?” The man hums in response. “Your jokes are terrible.” That actually makes Lancelot laugh, properly, for the first time in a very long time.

They ride through most of the day, only pausing to relieve themselves and to allow Goliath to rest for a while. When they stop to make camp at nightfall, Lancelot concedes: “We need a fire to cook the rabbit, anyway. You can build your pyre, so long as it’s small.”

“Really?” Percival sounds incredibly hopeful and when Lancelot nods, he actually rushes towards him and hugs the man. Lancelot is not sure what hurts more, his injuries that Percival is crushing, or the fact that this is the first time in over a decade that Lancelot has genuinely been held. Once Percival lets go, he quickly has to admit that his wounds definitely hurt worse. His legs almost give out and he has to lean on Goliath for support.

“Are you okay?” The boy seems genuinely worried for his well-being, which puzzles Lancelot. “I’ll be fine, I just need to sit down for a minute,” Lancelot reassures him, though he is not being entirely truthful, “would you mind collecting the firewood? I’ll skin the rabbit in the meantime.” Percival nods, but before he can bolt off, Lancelot adds: “Don’t go too far!” Percival just rolls his eyes, and Lancelot figures that’s as close as he’ll get to an actual answer.

When Percival returns with his arms full of firewood, he dumps a part into Lancelot’s lap, and then starts building a small pyre like he did earlier in the day. Lancelot notices that he has also picked some flowers, possibly as an offering to his gods, though Lancelot does not know the workings of this tradition.

He tries to concentrate on building the fire to cook the rabbits, leaving the boy to his devices. When he has started the fire and the rabbit meat is beginning to cook over it, he hears Percival huff in frustration.

“What is wrong?” he asks the boy. Percival looks at him, frustration written on his face. “I don’t know how this is supposed to work,” he admits, “I never actually attended a pyre. I was always too young.” He sounds so disappointed that Lancelot finds himself wanting to console him, though he is uncertain how to accomplish that.

“I don’t know much about these customs, but I’m sure it’s not the knowledge of the exact words that is important, but rather the intention,” he remarks, carefully. Percival regards Lancelot and considers his words for a moment. Then he nods and whispers a “Thank you” before he lights his little pyre.

Though he still looks uncertain, his face also seems determined now, and he throws his bundle of wildflowers into the fire. Percival stares into the flames for a moment, before he starts to say the Fey’s signature greeting: “We are born in the dawn -” he catches his breath, and even in the dark Lancelot can see the tear rolling down his cheek. He inhales and means to finish when another voice suddenly says:

“To pass in the twilight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? I usually don't like ending on cliffhangers, but if I hadn't made a cut here this chapter would have been about four thousand words long, and I thought that might be a bit much :')  
> The next chapter will be up soon though (and it will be longer than usual, consider it an apology for this ending) :')
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's supporting this story - your comments really make my day!  
> I'd be really happy to hear what you thought of this chapter! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Percival have a visitor. The atmosphere is tense, but Percival is determined to change that as soon as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger in the last chapter! As an apology, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, I hope you enjoy it! :)

“To pass in the twilight.”

Upon hearing those words, Squirrel’s eyes snap to where he’s leaning against a tree. “I hope that is not supposed to be my pyre, I’d absolutely hate to crash my own funeral.”

Squirrel looks as though he can’t quite believe his eyes when the Green Knight steps out in the clearing he seems to have made his camp in. In fact, he blinks forcefully a couple of times, seemingly waiting for Gawain to disappear upon opening his eyes.

When he does not, the boy’s joy is palpable. He jumps to his feet and runs towards Gawain, a huge grin on his face. “Green Knight!” he shouts and throws himself on the man, wrapping his small arms around him. Gawain laughs, pulling Squirrel into a proper hug. He did not think that he would ever see the brave little boy again when he was last hugging him, so holding him now feels surreal to Gawain.

“I thought you were dead,” Squirrel says, and it almost sounds accusing. Knowing the boy, it probably is. “I’m sorry,” Gawain replies, then offers: “I can go, if you’d like?” Squirrel frowns, as though he is unsure whether the Green Knight is being serious. Gawain chuckles, ruffling the boy’s hair, grinning when he pulls away. For a moment, Gawain is met with an irritated glare, before Squirrel seems to decide that there are more pressing matters.

“How did you find us?” the boy asks, clearly expecting to be told a story. Gawain however, stumbles over his use of the word ‘us’. Had one of the other Fey rescued Squirrel from the paladins? For the first time, he lets his gaze wander over his surroundings instead of focussing on the boy in front of him.

When he finds Squirrel’s companion, he is sure his breath stops short for a moment. Sitting against a tree, silently watching the two of them, is the Weeping Monk.

Gawain acts purely on instinct and pushes Squirrel behind him with one arm while the other unsheathes his sword. He points his blade at the monk - who for some reason makes no move to pull out his own sword - even though he knows the man could probably beat him in a fight. Had done so already, actually.

Still, Gawain will take those odds if it means giving Squirrel time to get away. Squirrel however ducks under Gawain’s arm and puts himself between the Green Knight’s blade and the Weeping Monk, who still hasn’t made a move to defend himself.

“What are you doing?” Gawain hisses at Squirrel, though he does not take his eyes off of the man sitting on the ground. He mentally curses his own foolishness. Of course the boy would not be on his own, he had been captured by the paladins and he could not have escaped without help. He should have checked his surroundings, should have noticed the man sitting in the shadows. Though he is not sure what the monk’s intentions for Squirrel are, he is sure that they are far from good.

“I’m stopping you from killing Lancelot!” comes Squirrel’s reply. It leaves Gawain with about ten more questions than before, but for the time being he settles on: “Lancelot?” Squirrel rolls his eyes as though he is being the ridiculous one and Gawain is reminded that the boy has a particular talent for testing his patience. “Well, you didn’t really think his name was ‘The Weeping Monk’, did you?”

Truth be told, Gawain had never really thought about the man’s real name. In his defense, he did not exactly have the time in between defending his people and fighting for his own life. He is sure the monk had never spared much of a thought for his name while he had tracked him down either.

“What are you doing with Squirrel?” he demands of the monk. Before the man in question can even open his mouth to answer, Squirrel is already talking again. “He saved me from the paladins! The big, ugly one wanted to take out my tongue, but Lancelot slit his throat! And then we were trying to leave, but there was a group of men with really, really weird masks and we fought them all!”

When Gawain raises an eyebrow, Squirrel concedes: “Fine, it was mostly Lancelot who fought them, but I helped! They were going to kill him, so I threw a rock at the one who was holding him, so he would let go, and then I picked up a sword-” “And I’m sure you killed the rest of them then, right?” Gawain asks, incredulously.

“Well, no,” Squirrel admits, “but Lancelot couldn’t have done it without my help!” He turns to the man as though he’s expecting him to support his tale. To Gawain’s surprise, the monk merely inclines his head and says: “The boy speaks the truth.”

Gawain tries to wrap his head around the story and fails miserably. He does not, however, fail to notice the smug smile Squirrel is wearing, nor does he miss the way the Weeping Monk looks almost - but surely he can’t be, Gawain must be mistaken. If it were any other man, Gawain would say his expression seems almost fond, but this is no ordinary man he is facing here. 

It is hard to reconcile everything he knows about the Weeping Monk with the man that his blade is pointed at. With the hood of his cloak down, his face is not obscured by shadows, and for the first time Gawain notices that he must be younger than they ever would have thought.

If he had to guess, Gawain would say that the monk is probably younger still than even himself, though not by much. Wrapped in his cloak, he almost seems harmless. He banishes those thoughts from his mind when he remembers just who it is he’s thinking about. The scar on his abdomen is proof of just how dangerous this man can be, no matter how small and youthful he may appear.

“He’s not going to attack you, you know?” Squirrel chooses that moment to speak, seemingly annoyed that Gawain has not lowered his sword. Gawain decides to ignore him for the moment, and focuses his gaze on the Weeping Monk. “Have you truly left them?”

“I have,” the man says.

“Why?” Gawain needs to know what has changed in his mind that he would abandon the cause he had defended so ardently not long ago, needs to know he is not walking into a trap, that he can trust the man with Squirrel. Not that the boy is giving him much of a choice, standing defensively in front of the monk as he is. Gawain resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I could not let them harm the boy,” the man replies, and Gawain is reminded of Brother Salt’s kitchen, where the monk had claimed he did not harm the children. Gawain had told him that his passivity in the face of the other paladins’ crimes made him guilty by default, that he was still harming children by slaying their parents, even if it was only indirectly. He did not think that his words had truly reached the other Fey, but perhaps he had been mistaken.

He is still uncertain, until the other man says: “I don’t expect you to trust me, or to forgive me. I know I cannot be forgiven by your people for what I have done to them. I only ask that you return Percival to them safely.” Gawain doesn’t miss the fact that he does not call the Fey his own people, that he still seems to deny his own heritage, but upon hearing the monk say Squirrel’s real name, he lowers his sword at last.

The genuine surprise that colours the man’s face is enough to convince Gawain he has made the right decision, at least for now. The monk - Lancelot? - appears as though he had expected the Green Knight to kill him right here and now and if that makes something akin to concern for him flood Gawain’s heart, well, no one will ever have to know.

Squirrel lets out a victorious whoop and bounds over to where the monk is sitting - Gawain still finds it hard to think of him as anything else, even though it seems as though he had genuinely left the Red Paladins for good. 

“Do you want something to eat? We can share,” Squirrel offers, and Gawain is about to reply when the monk - Lancelot, Gawain has to remind himself - curses and moves hastily. Gawain is alarmed for a moment and reaches for his sword again, before he realizes that the two of them must have been cooking some sort of meat over a small fire; meat that looks fairly burned, even from a distance.

Gawain can’t suppress a small laugh, which turns into a full-blown laugh when he receives two glares in return. “Don’t laugh!” Squirrel is probably trying to sound intimidating, but he doesn’t really succeed. “It’s your fault the meat is burned, anyways!”

“My fault?” Gawain repeats, amusedly. Squirrel nods vigorously. “You had your sword pointed at Lancelot the whole time, so he was distracted! He can’t exactly check on the meat while he’s being threatened.”

While the boy makes a good point, Gawain is definitely never going to admit that, so he just shrugs. Before Squirrel can continue to make accusations, Lancelot says: “The meat is still edible, so if you want, you can have some of it.”

He sounds unsure of himself, as though he doesn’t know if the offer will be welcome. When Gawain says “Gladly,” he seems to loosen up a little, and hands the meat to Squirrel, telling him to share it with the Green Knight.

Gawain watches curiously as the man keeps none of the food for himself, as Squirrel frowns at him and hands some of the meat back to Lancelot. He thinks the man might protest when he opens his mouth, but Squirrel quickly stuffes a piece of meat in his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

Gawain tenses, ready to defend the boy, thinking the monk would surely get angry, lash out at Squirrel, but he only glares at the boy and eats the meat that has been stuffed into his mouth. When Squirrel turns to face Gawain, he looks extremely smug and Gawain can’t help but chuckle.

The boy hands over some of the meat and then settles down comfortably between Lancelot and Gawain. They eat in silence for a while, until Squirrel demands to hear about how the Green Knight had managed to find them and, more importantly, how he is no longer on the brink of death but rather seems to be in perfect health.

Admittedly, Gawain himself is not too sure about the details of his recovery, but he does his best to explain what he can to the boy.

“I don’t know for sure,” he begins, “the last thing I remember is being in Brother Salt’s kitchen.” He decides that it would be for the best not to tell the boy that he thought he died, even though it is evident that he didn't. “When I woke up, I was in this forest, covered by some sort of plants. I saw smoke, so I decided to check it out.”

At that, he sees Lancelot shoot a very pointed look at Squirrel, who simply rolls his eyes at the man and turns back towards Gawain. “Do you really remember nothing?” Gawain shakes his head. “No, why do you ask?”

“Well,” Squirrel says, “it’s been two days since we left the paladins’ camp.”

To say that Gawain is shocked would be an understatement. At the same time, he sees that there is some sense to this development. As much as being mysteriously saved can make sense, anyways. His body is almost completely healed, all the recent wounds from the torture - and his fight against the Weeping Monk - are already scarring as though they are weeks old, not days.

When they are done eating and have settled for the night, Gawain announces that he will be keeping watch. He expects Lancelot to disagree, and while he can see that the other Fey clearly wants to, he only nods in acceptance.

Perhaps he realizes that Gawain does not trust him enough to sleep in his presence and decides he might as well get some sleep. Perhaps he only acts complacent so he can wait for Gawain to fall asleep on his watch and slit his throat then. Whatever his reasons may be, Lancelot lies down and wraps his arms around himself tightly, having draped his cloak over Squirrel after the boy had fallen asleep.

Gawain watches him for a while. When he’s sure the man has actually fallen asleep, he turns his gaze away and watches their surroundings. If he finds himself occasionally glancing towards Lancelot, then surely it is to check he is not plotting their murder, and not because he looks incredibly peaceful when he sleeps.

And if he notices that the man actually looks rather pretty now that all the tension he seems to be carrying has left his body, Gawain will be sure to never let anyone else in on that particular secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading from a different perspective for once!   
> I immensely enjoyed writing the reunion between Squirrel and Gawain, because I adore their dynamic, so I hope I did them justice!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments, they really motivate me to keep writing :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gawain gets some time to consider his situation, Percival gets to be a child for once, and Lancelot finally gets some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interior monologue is back, yay! :') (seriously, there's a lot of that in this chapter, but Gawain really needed some time to sort through a couple of things)   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The first rays of sunshine are starting to illuminate their surroundings when Squirrel starts to stir. Gawain regards him fondly as he slowly opens his eyes, blinking a couple of times to properly wake himself up. Confusion colours the boy’s face for a moment when he tries to get up but gets tangled in his makeshift blanket. The confusion quickly makes way for exasperation when he recognizes the garment for what it is.

Gawain watches as Squirrel removes the cloak and gets up, stretching his limbs. The boy then picks up the discarded cloak and walks over to where its owner is still sleeping, seemingly exhausted. Squirrel drapes the cloak over Lancelot’s sleeping form, then turns towards Gawain.

“Good morning!” he says, cheerfully. Gawain feels way too exhausted from staying up all night to feign much enthusiasm right now, so his tone is much more reserved when he bids Squirrel good morning. Unbidden thoughts sneak into his head, telling him he should have let Lancelot take the second watch.

He immediately chides himself - had he forgotten what this man had done? What he was? Gawain might as well have surrendered his sword to him if he wanted to make things easier for the monk. But he knows that by nightfall he will have to have come up with another solution, for he cannot possibly stay awake for another night.

The possibility of tying the other fey to a tree for the night does not sit right with Gawain, regardless of the fact that he has no rope to bind him with. And there’s a part of Gawain that thinks he should just give Lancelot a chance - he had saved Squirrel after all, and seemingly at the risk of his own life.

Before Gawain can further contemplate the situation, or rather the sleeping man, he is startled from his thoughts by sudden movement. He raises his sword rapidly, only to realise the movement had come from Squirrel.

The boy is holding a tree branch, swinging it through the air like a weapon, fighting invisible enemies. Gawain figures that the two of them had spent the majority of the past two days riding, putting distance between themselves and the Red Paladins, so it is only natural that a child as young as Squirrel would have a lot of pent-up energy.

“Squirrel.” Gawain keeps his voice quiet, somewhat reluctant to wake Lancelot just yet. He has not made his mind up about how he should act around the other man and wants just a little bit more time to himself to sort through his thoughts.

Squirrel gives no indication of having heard Gawain, probably too caught up in his game. So he raises his voice slightly and calls out again: “Squirrel!”

This time, Gawain is sure that the boy has heard him, but he does not immediately receive a response as Squirrel stabs the air a few more times. When he seems satisfied that his enemies are defeated, Squirrel turns around to face Gawain, a questioning look on his face. Gawain beckons him closer.

Once the boy is sitting next to him, Gawain shoots a look over to where Lancelot is lying, assuring he is still asleep before he speaks again. When he is certain that the other man has not awoken yet, Gawain focuses on Squirrel once more. 

“Has he hurt you?” Gawain can see various emotions flicker over the boy’s face, first confusion, then understanding, and finally something that is somewhere between annoyance and indignation. “Did you not listen to me yesterday? I told you, he saved me!”

“Yes, but how do we know this is not a trap?” Even as he’s speaking, Gawain can tell that this argument is not very convincing. Squirrel must feel the same, because he replies: “For who - me? You? And why would he need to kill the other paladins for that? They had captured us already, and the only reason I’m not dead is because Lancelot saved me!”

He gets louder and louder with every word he speaks and Gawain means to calm him down, but before he gets the chance, Squirrel continues. “Why won’t you just trust him? You always tell everyone that the Fey have to stick together, but now you refuse to!”

“One good deed does not erase what he has done to our people in the past, what he has put us through,” Gawain tries to reason, mostly with himself. Already though he can tell that the boy has found his weak spot - he himself had told Lancelot that all Fey are brothers, even the lost ones. 

Although admittedly he was somewhat desperate at that point, certain of his death and not wanting to leave his people defenseless, Gawain finds he still means what he said. 

“Don’t you think he knows that?” Squirrel asks, incredulously. “He doesn’t expect to be forgiven because he saved me, and I’m not even sure he wants to be. But everyone deserves a second chance, and he can help us! He was with the paladins for years, he knows how they work, how they think. And he can fight like no-one else I’ve ever seen! We need every protection we can get!”

Gawain finds it hard to argue with that logic. He also finds that he doesn’t really want to. Resigned, he sighs, and says: “Alright, I will give him a chance to prove himself. But I need to be sure where his allegiance lies - I cannot blindly risk the lives of the other Fey.”

Squirrel seems very content to have gotten his way, as he gets back up and seemingly finds some new opponents to fight. Gawain is content to let him play for a while longer, to let him be a child for once. 

When the boy’s stick hits a tree with a resounding clang, Gawain can see Lancelot twitch in his sleep, but he does not wake up. The man must be truly tired to sleep so deeply, as Gawain assumes that he - much like himself - is usually a light sleeper, a habit born out of necessity.

He asks Squirrel to quiet down a bit, to let the man sleep for a while longer, and this time it is only partly because he wants some more time to figure out how to act around him. There’s also a part of him that just genuinely wants to let Lancelot rest for a little longer.

Gawain thinks it is entirely possible that it is the same part that had noticed how peaceful the other Fey looked after he fell asleep yesterday, but for now he chalks it up to the fact that they will all need to be as alert as they can be in case they come upon any hindrances today.

He is not quite sure where they will go now, for none of them know the location of the remaining Fey, but he knows they cannot stay here. Gawain hopes that his people are not stuck in Grammaire anymore, that they have made it to safety. 

There is a small voice in the back of his head that points out that his people may already be dead, slaughtered by the armies that were besieging them when he left. Gawain quickly shuts down that train of thought - he can’t afford to think this way, can’t afford to grieve for people he doesn’t know are dead for sure.

He forces himself to focus on Squirrel again, who is still fighting invisible monsters. How he has the energy to keep that up for this long, Gawain has no idea.

To take his mind off of things, he tries to come up with a plan of action that they can follow now. Because Gawain is unsure of where they should go now, he focuses on more simple aspects first.

They will probably have to move on foot, because he doubts that the horse can carry all three of them for very long, and he does not want to put too much of a strain on it.

His own dry throat makes Gawain realise that they also need to replenish their water supplies, and find some food. He remembers coming upon a small creek yesterday as he was following the smoke to the others’ campsite.

He glances over to Lancelot and when he finds the man still sleeping, he weighs his options. When he has made his decision, he calls out to the playing child. “Squirrel, can you watch him for a moment? I will go get some water.”

“Can I go?” Squirrel asks, excitedly. Apparently, he can see that Gawain wants to say no, because he adds: “Please! I’ll be careful, I promise.” His eyes widen and he looks at Gawain pleadingly. Gawain sighs, but he surveys their surroundings carefully, and when he doesn’t see or hear anything suspicious, he concedes.

“Alright, I don’t see why not.” Before Squirrel has the chance to get too excited, Gawain says: “But you really have to be cautious, understood? If anything seems wrong, you come right back, and you don’t try to play the hero.”

He adds the last bit for good measure, and the boy at least has the decency to look somewhat rueful. After Squirrel agrees to his conditions, Gawain tells him where to find the stream he saw. Squirrel collects their waterskins and takes off, using the opportunity to run for a while.

Gawain shakes his head at the boy’s antics, but he is glad that Squirrel hasn’t lost his liveliness to the war that is going on around them.

It’s only a moment later when Gawain hears stirring. He glances towards Lancelot, who is waking up slowly. He can see the man blink a couple of times, before he seems to be awake enough to move.

Gawain thinks he tries to get up, but he can’t be sure as the man’s movement is restricted by his own cloak. The confusion on Lancelot’s face is so akin to Squirrel’s that Gawain has to stifle a laugh.

Apparently, he isn’t very successful in his attempt, because Lancelot glances towards him immediately. Gawain can’t quite decipher his expression, but he thinks it is somewhere between indignation and reluctant amusement.

Lancelot removes the cloak from his front and instead slings it around his neck again. Then he glances around the clearing, probably looking for Squirrel, but before Gawain can explain the boy’s absence, a voice pierces through the air.

“Get your hands off me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person, and I'm terribly sorry! I had to end this somewhere, and the next option would have been another cliffhanger :')
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyways, let me know what you think! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People still haven't learned that messing with Squirrel is something that they should not do if they don't have a death wish. Gawain jumps to conclusions, but luckily Lancelot proves him wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhh, it's been a while.  
> I'm sorry this took so long, real life got in the way. If you're reading this chapter even though it's been what feels like years, thank you. 
> 
> Now for this chapter:  
> Gawain jumps to conclusions and it might make you want to shake the idiot, but in his defense, he's under a lot of stress and very worried about his son.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Horror grips Gawain as he hears Squirrel yell. He scrambles for his sword, barely noticing Lancelot taking off in the direction of the commotion. Gawain runs after him as fast as he can, his heart caught in his throat.

When he catches sight of red cloaks through the trees, he curses his own foolishness. He was willing to believe that Lancelot had left his past as the Weeping Monk behind, and now he would pay for his mistake.

He realises that this must have been the other man's design all along - to meet up with his fellow paladins once he had gained their trust. The sounds of the forest are dimmed by a thumping that Gawain belatedly realises is his own heart and so it takes a moment for him to notice the clanging sounds that draw ever nearer, and longer still to recognise them as the sound of swords clashing. 

He can't seem to make sense of the situation: to his knowledge, Squirrel hadn't had a sword, did he? He wills his feet to move faster, sending a prayer to the Hidden that he might reach the boy in time.

When he finally comes in sight of the stream he sent Squirrel to, the sounds of combat have ceased again and Gawain fears the worst. His eyes scan the scene that presents itself to him, briefly catching on the bodies of red paladins that lie motionless on the ground before they really take in the situation.

There are still quite a few paladins in the clearing, and there is Lance- no, the Weeping Monk, with his swords drawn - and why are his swords drawn? Had another fey managed to find them? But the monk isn’t standing with the other paladins, isn’t facing any fey.

He’s facing the paladins, staring at them with such contempt that it almost scares Gawain, and he wonders what has caused this expression on the monk’s face.

But there are more pressing issues right now than figuring out the puzzle that this man presents. Gawain desperately needs to find Squirrel, needs to know he is alright. He doesn’t think he could bear losing the boy twice in such a short period of time.

The eerie silence that had settled over the forest is broken by one of the paladins screaming in pain, and just an instance later a shout: “Get your dirty hands off me!”

It is only then that he spots Squirrel struggling in the hold of one of the paladins and his heart is flooded with relief at seeing the boy alive. He tries to come up with a way in which he can take out the paladins without putting the boy in harm’s way, but he comes up short.

He could try sneaking up on them, but there’s too many of them to kill them all before Squirrel could be hurt. If he makes his presence known, they will simply demand he surrender lest they hurt the boy. 

He’s stuck, and he knows it. His chest feels too tight and all wrong when he tries to take steadying breaths to calm down; and he must make a sound, because he can see the Weeping Monk’s eyes narrow, but the man does not turn his way, does not give away his presence.

Surely he should have? 

Gawain should know better than to hope, should know better than to believe. But he can’t help but wonder if perhaps - and the longer he thinks about it, the more it makes sense: the dead paladins, the fact that the man was opposing the paladins, not trying to leave with them, the fact that Squirrel was right, there was no need to capture them again when they had already been captured, the fey’s absolutely terrifying expression, all of it.

And as the last puzzle piece is falling into place, the silence is broken again.

“Let the boy go.”

Some of the paladins actually take a step back at the man’s words. Gawain cannot blame them, for Lancelot looks at them with an expression that would make the bravest of men fear for their lives, and rightfully so, as Gawain is well aware.

Sadly, this is not enough to make them surrender. Instead, they sneer at Lancelot and from the disgust that is so obviously written in their faces, it is not hard to guess that his true heritage must be common knowledge among the Red Paladins now.

And indeed, only a moment later one of them taunts: “Or what, fey scum?” The man who has spoken - a tall, broad man - takes a step forward and spits before his feet.

Gawain thinks he is a fool - surely he must know that to challenge the Weeping Monk is as good as a signed death sentence? Maybe the man presumes that because there is no way for Lancelot to kill him without endangering the child, he is safe from the man’s wrath.

Maybe they are all fools, he decides when he notices that they left Squirrel more or less unprotected. Their sole focus now on Lancelot, the paladin who is holding the boy is no longer in their middle, but rather off to the side, and Gawain sees that as his chance.

He prays to the Hidden that Lancelot will keep their attention on him while he sneaks around the clearing, prays that they will not notice him and he can get the boy out safely.

It seems the Hidden have decided to grant his prayers, because he reaches the other side of the clearing without detection. He throws one last glance towards Lancelot and then steps out of the cover of the trees, coming up behind the paladin who is keeping Squirrel captive.

Gawain slits his throat without hesitation.

After that, it is as though time has sped up. The paladin falls to the ground, gasping for breath. Gawain quickly grabs Squirrel and pushes him behind himself.

The other men, alerted by the sounds of the dying man, spin around to assess this new threat and it is this that is their downfall. 

While Gawain stands protectively in front of Squirrel, Lancelot takes out the paladins one by one. He shows them no mercy, and one after the other their bodies fall to the ground.

It feels like it is only seconds later when the last paladin falls. Gawain’s eyes sweep the surroundings to check if any threat remains before he lowers his sword. He can see Lancelot do the same where he is standing, absentmindedly wiping his sword clean on the red cloak of one of the men he had felled.

Their eyes meet and Gawain thinks there is an understanding between them now that was not there before. He knows now with utter surety that Lancelot really has given up his life with the Red Paladins and that he truly, deeply cares for Squirrel.

“That was awesome!” Speaking of Squirrel, the boy seems to have recovered from the situation quite quickly. He bounds around Gawain and beams up at him. “Thank you Green Knight!”

Gawain can’t help but chuckle at that. “Kid, you do know that you can call me Gawain, right? You don’t have to call me Green Knight all the time.”

The expression on Squirrel’s face tells him that the boy did in fact not know that he could. Gawain can’t refrain from teasing him a little: “You did know my name though, didn’t you?”

Squirrel seems outraged by the mere insinuation and opens his mouth to respond, but a hand on his shoulder interrupts him. 

Lancelot gently tugs on the boy’s shoulder to get him to turn around. He looks exhausted, but still on guard while he checks over the boy to make sure he is alright. When he appears to be satisfied that Squirrel is physically unharmed he finally seems to relax.

Gawain worriedly notices that his face is rather pale, the tear marks framing his eyes standing out more distinctly than they usually do. As he watches him closely, he also notices that his legs appear rather unsteady as well, and Gawain thinks they might give out any moment now.

“We should probably leave.” He means to say so much more - are you alright? thank you. I’m sorry I doubted you. - but for now he leaves it at this.

Lancelot nods and says: “Yeah, we should,” but neither of them moves. He thinks maybe Lancelot heard what he meant to say even if he didn’t say it out loud, and maybe he’s also not saying all that he wants to say.

“Well then what are the two of you waiting for?” Squirrel sounds impatient and is already starting to walk away from them, so they turn to follow the boy back to their camp.

As they head back to where Gawain had found the two of them, he can’t help but glance over to Lancelot, who is walking next to him. He tries to be sneaky about it, but soon notices that it doesn’t really matter because Lancelot seems very preoccupied with setting one foot in front of the other without falling.

It is not hard to tell when the man becomes too exhausted to keep going, so when Lancelot trips, Gawain catches him before he hits the ground. He helps the other fey stand up again, and then, clearly telegraphing his movements, carefully takes the man’s arm and slings it across his own neck.

Lancelot looks as though he wants to protest the help, but instead he stays silent. Gawain takes this as his queue to get moving again, and, though more slowly than before, they make their way through the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't the longest, but I thought you might appreciate this more than another cliffhanger.
> 
> Now for real though: thank you to everyone who stuck around, thank you to everyone who read this even though it clearly hadn't been updated in a while, thank you to everyone who left kudos, and most of all, thank you to everyone who left comments on this.
> 
> I can't promise that I will go back to updating regularly again now, because I've started university in the meantime, but I am planning on writing for this story again whenever I can manage it. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter!
> 
> I hope you have the nicest of days, nights or whatever else there could possibly be :)


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